Demonic Angel
by Orangen
Summary: Last case spoilers. Kristoph was always an angel to Vera, but in the end he turned out to be a demon... Implied one sided VeraKris.


_Disclaimer: _As much as I wish otherwise, I don't own the Apollo Justice copyrights.

_Author's Note_: Actually, I like Vera with Apollo and Kristoph with… various people. But after playing case four again, this idea suddenly came to me. Especially during the Mason System, Vera acts extremely interested in Kristoph. But, I don't have Vera refer to Kristoph by name because the game kinda acted like she didn't know it. Oh, and if you didn't guess already, this has lots of spoilers in it.

**Demonic Angel**

It was odd. Until then, she'd only done paintings, but then again she'd only had a few "jobs." When her father told her about the newest request, Vera was immediately curious.

She didn't find out that the client was coming to visit until the day she was supposed to get her "supplies."

Vera hid behind an easel, gnawing on her fingernails as the man spoke to her father. His voice sounded so calm and gentle, but Vera didn't want to believe it. Outside people were… bad.

Eventually, Drew wearily called for Vera and shuffled out of the room. Timidly, Vera shuffled out from her hiding place and looked up at her client.

He slowly pulled the thin veil off of his face, his long blonde hair mussing slightly as he smiled. His slate-colored eyes sparkled at her from behind his thin-rimmed glasses, and Vera was instantly entranced. She reluctantly sat down at the very opposite edge of the table, still chewing on her thumb nervously.

"Vera? It's all right. I promise. Look… I even brought you something special."

The man didn't take his eyes off Vera's fingernails as he pulled a small bottle out of his suit pocket. Vera slid a bit closer, her own eyes widening as she looked at the delicate hand-shaped design.

Laughing, he handed it to her. "Many girls your age wear nail polish, yes? This nail polish is special. It's a good luck charm."

"G-good luck?" Vera whispered.

His hand lingered on her small one for a moment. "Yes. I even use it myself. I heard you don't like going outside… and you don't have to. But if you absolutely must, then wear this. It will protect you, but only if you don't tell anyone about it. Can it be our little secret?"

"Okay," Vera replied, slowly giving a small smile.

"Very good, Vera."

Vera suddenly glanced down at the man's hand as he pulled it away to reach into his bag. She just noticed the thin scar that curved above his wrist, and currently the rest of his hand looked strangely tense. Vera gasped quietly—near his knuckles, two small indents in the muscle contractions looked like eyes.

His hand had turned into a skull-like face.

"Hm? Is something wrong?"

The man's hand instantly seemed to loosen up as he set a small notebook and a separate sheet of paper on the table. Vera blinked; had she just been imagining things? She forced a nod.

"All right," he smiled, his eyes sparkling again. "Then please, let me explain my request. It might be a bit different than what you're used to. I want the writing to look like the writing in this diary, but I want it to say something different."

"But… I've only ever made copies before…" Vera trailed off.

"Don't worry; I think you can do it. No… I know you can."

Vera's smile grew a bit as the man gave her a confident look. He abruptly glanced around the studio for a few moments, and then looked back at Vera.

"Vera? Would you mind telling me about some of your other works?"

The twelve-year-old unconsciously grinned, feeling more eager as she started talking about her paintings…

* * *

Vera didn't understand.

Just a few weeks after her journal page had been completed, a new man came to the studio. He did not look serene like Vera's last client. In fact, he even had her page with him, and he looked very sad.

But her work couldn't have been used for something bad… Especially not if it had come from that client… The man who had listened to her, laughed with her, and assured her that it would be used to help someone…

But when the sad man left, Vera felt an unexplainable pang of guilt in her stomach.

* * *

Years went by, and Vera's work went on.

Yet she never forgot that client. He'd even given her another gift, if inadvertently. She'd been supposed to return a letter to him with a special stamp—but she'd saved the stamp instead.

So she continued copying and thinking. Every day was nearly the same, but she enjoyed making her paintings.

But then one day, her father had his first-ever interview. Vera politely made a spare cup of coffee for the reporter as well that evening. The gangly man took his cup and bumbled around the room, but Drew contrarily sat down as he took a sip.

Seconds later, the older man slumped to the floor.

Shaking her father frantically, Vera started to sob when he didn't respond. The reporter gasped, proceeding to ramble anxiously and dart around in search for a phone.

The next few minutes happened in a blur. More people arrived at the studio, and two of them started to pull Vera outside. Still in shock, Vera tried in vain to twist away from them.

However, as she glanced inside one last time, she noticed her special stamp was not at her desk anymore…

* * *

Vera bit her tongue as she applied her third—no, fourth—layer of nail polish. It was her good luck charm, she repeated to herself… Her very special good luck charm… It was a gift from her angel of a client, after all.

But when she was called into her trial to testify for herself, she bit her fingernails anyway. The charm should have protected her, but she was still nervous.

Then, as the minutes started ticking by, her vision started blurring. The prosecutor leaned forward as he questioned her, his face looking more and more like her angel's…

However, as her body started to numb, there was something Vera realized. This was the first time she'd used her nail polish, and it wasn't protecting her at all. It was doing just the opposite. It had all been a lie… A lie an infatuated adolescent had happily believed.

Her angel had turned out to be…

"The… De… vil…"


End file.
